


Chopin's Prelude, Op. 28, No. 15 in Paris

by kittymaverick



Series: Paris Apartment Diaries [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Hugs, Kisses, Really it's just two people being sickly sweet, Sin Devil Trigger Form, Vergil has an expressive tail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-12-29 23:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymaverick/pseuds/kittymaverick
Summary: The narrator gets a surprise visit from the grumpy Sparda twin. Fluffiness ensues.





	Chopin's Prelude, Op. 28, No. 15 in Paris

**Author's Note:**

> The reason why I wrote this: I'm very, very, very mesmerized by a specific part of Vergil's Sin Devil Trigger form, namely, his tail. And then I made up some cute headcanons and overdosed one person with it. And now we're here.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~The last time I spoke French was like... fifteen years ago, so if Google Translate has failed me, I apologize to the French speakers for butchering your language.~~
> 
>  
> 
> Special thanks to Fury Tigress for volunteering to save me from embarrassing myself with Google Translate! Go check out the fics they write, especially the After the Nightmare series featuring post-DMC 5 Sparda family boys doing family bonding. (They are so, heartwarmingly, good. )
> 
> While I do have set descriptions for my OC, I have left out most of the detail for this fic in particular so people can interpret the speaker's appearance as they like, though the individual is definitely feminine-coded.

Despite the weather forecast warning it was going to rain tonight, I had not expected so heavy a downpour. Wind and rain fight viciously for control of the night skies. I stumble to my Parisian apartment. The umbrella I have is utterly useless as the rain fell diagonally. Each time a gale blows, my umbrella tips. Droplets soak my hair, seeping through my supposed all-weather overcoat. My turtleneck and jeans cling to my skin. Is the moisture building up from the rain, or my own sweat? I can’t tell. The cold of the spring shower grips me by the bone. I need the indoors, and I need it now.

I arrive at the glass double doors at the thunderous crack of a distant lightning. The refuge of warmth lay behind lock and key, and damn it all to hell, that key had to disappear into some alternate dimension in my bag right at this very moment. I half-consider ringing the doorbell for my custodian, Madame Pouillet, but it is late. The kind old gentlewoman needs her sleep. I dip my head in defeat, skull hitting the glass with a light thud as I pat down my pockets. The winds gladly buffet me in the meantime, unrelenting as I fish out the elusive keyring from my right hip pocket.

I open the doors and slip in, heading straight for the elevator. Just as I reach for the button, the lights of the foyer blink out. The street lamps outside dim. Did a fuse jump from a power surge? Did some stray lightning hit a powerbox? Or is something foul about to take place?

I suppress the paranoia, forcing myself to stop analyzing the situation. This place is well-protected, both by actual wards and by reputation. Let the demons come if they dare. Dragging my soggy ass up five flights of stairs is more monumental a task than taking care of would-be intruders. I ascend the wooden steps, treading lightly. Why did I have to keep the penthouse for my personal habitat? Was it for the view of the Seine and the city? Was I not greedy enough for the extra income? Perhaps it was out of pure selfishness. I mull slowly over those thoughts and questions on repeat until I arrive at my door. If only the power hasn’t gone out. The view of the city’s night skyline beyond the doors would have been breathtaking. I sigh at my loss as I reach out and feel for the wrought iron handle.

The door on the opposite side of the landing click open as I thumb for the right key. Alas, I must have stomped my way up the last flight of stairs to have woken the heavy sleeper that is my custodian. “ _Bonsoir, madame_ ,” I greet the old woman, who held a lit candle in one hand. “ _Pardonnez-moi pour le bruit. Le courant est coupé_.”

“ _Évidemment_ ,” she raises the light so we can both see better. I find the right key and insert it with ease. “ _Alors, qui est cet homme?_?”

“ _¿Qué?_ ” My brain fries and blurts out in the wrong language. “I mean... _Quel homme_?” I corrected.

“ _L'homme qui est entré chez toi_ ,” Madame Pouillet points at my door with her chin. “ _Manteau noir, cheveux blancs, un visage digne des statues de marbre du Louvre. Tenant une épée japonaise dans sa main._ ”

Some alertness return to my head. Vergil? What is he doing here at this time and hour? I try the door. It is locked still. He must have locked it behind him after he went in. That said, Vergil had said nothing about a visit in the last letter he wrote to me. Granted, he can use the Yamato to come and go as he pleased, and I did give him a key. A surprise like this, however, was more of a stunt that Dante would suggest. Somehow, I doubt he has successfully persuaded Vergil’s honor-bound thinking into accepting that this is a good idea. “ _Vous a-t-il dit pourquoi il était ici?_ ” I ask.

“ _Non, il m'a seulement laissé un beau bordel à nettoyer demain matin dans les escaliers. Je lui pardonne seulement parce qu'il est beau._ ” She points back to the stairs, at the second trail of wet footprints travelling up the stairs beside mine, leading up and through my door. “ _Alors? Qui est ce garçon? Un collègue, ou un amoureux?_ ”

My cheeks flush. Angels bless me, I am not ready to be questioned about my discreet change in relationship status just yet, let alone by a French elderly woman who had made it quite clear that she is heavily invested in where I shall go in life. Even though Madame Pouillet and I have known each other for over a decade, I have yet to tell her about Vergil. There are simply too many nuances that I don’t have the time to go into, or don’t want to go into prematurely. “Ah... _Je suis très fatiguée, madame_ ,” I make an excuse, turning the key. The door unlocks with a clunk. “ _Merci beaucoup pour la lumière. Vous devriez vous reposer aussi. Bonne nuit._ ”

“ _Et bien, ma fille. Bonne nuit à toi aussi_.” Seeing that her curiosity is not going to be sated, Madame Pouillet turn away. As I close the door, shutting out the dim candlelight, I hear her mutter about _les jeunes_ and _une nuit passionnée_.

I tell myself that I signed up for this when I made this real estate investment. No complaining or regrets allowed, especially when my early retirement is all but guaranteed with how much money this building is bringing in. Anyway, to the issue at hand.

I drop my bag and umbrella. “Vergil?” I call out as I bolt the front door. “Vergil, are you here--”

Bright blue light, some in a runic circle, pulse from my bedroom, briefly illuminating the apartment as it passes through the walls. The lighter furniture around the house shift. A heavy stack of tomes somewhere fall smack to the floor. I catch my footing against the small shockwave and wait for things to settle. Picking up a protection sigil paper that has fallen off the wall, I stick it back with a sigh.

So, what do we have here? Another case of the older half-demon son of Sparda being at odds with himself. He is most certainly here because he wants to see me, yet the first thing he does when I made my presence known is to give me a force push that might as well have meant “shove off”. Talk about sending mixed signals.

I understand he cannot help it, though. Vergil struggles with communicating with himself, let along others, and especially if they are humans. (Or half-humans, part-humans, maybe-humans. Oh, it’s all technicalities at this point...) Difficult as it makes the relationship, I would not have him any other way.

At the very least, he’s left the bedroom door open, so there is that invitation.

I take my sweet time getting out of my wet coat and boots. Clumsily, I search for some towels to dry myself off with, bumping into drawers, walls, chairs and what-nots as I dry my hair. I do not keep any of that noise down. This stumbling around in the dark, it’s a grace period I’m giving him to mentally prepare himself.

With the towel wrapped around my neck, I step up to the bedroom doorway. As expected from the soft blue glow, I find Vergil in a transformed state, sitting on the edge of the far side of bed with his back to me. What is unexpect is the type of form he has taken. Four massive wings all but block my view of the windows. Concentrated flames like that from a blowtorch flare from his forearms and the horns on his head. Then there was the tail, long, spiny and pointed, stretching out the entire width of the king-sized bed. How the bedsprings held up under his weight, I have no idea.

I have only ever observed him in this state at a respectable distance, for obvious reasons. Feeling his Sin Devil Trigger form this up close and personal knock the breath out of me. Heat radiate from him, warming the room. Even the spacious bedroom feels like a confinement of the sheer power of strength he exuded. As I stare, mouth agape, Vergil turns his head the slightest bit, as if reluctant to face me.

The rain outside dance on the roof above. Another flash of lightning proceeds a soft rumble of thunder. Neither of us speak for seconds. I see his shoulders drop a centimeter as he turns back, growling softly.

“Sorry, Vergil. I’m just surprised by your appearance and your... appearance.” Wow, just... hi mouth, meet foot. I’m off to some great start. “You didn’t say you would be here in your letter. Did something happen?”

His tail, it had been lying flat against the bed, straight at first. At my question, the tip curves, and he draws it towards himself. His wings dip lower. And yet, Vergil says nothing still, not even a grunt. The silence doesn’t mean he did not have anything to say though. If anything, he probably desperately wants to put something into words, but can’t.

Patiently, I walk up to him. My skills of reading a person like a book falter. I peer at his metallic face. There is no brow or cheek or lip to read emotions off. The glow from his eyes obscure the direction of his gaze. As for his body, the only tidbit I can gleam is the tension in his posture, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, legs slightly apart.

I had talked to Dante about this once, about how much easier it is for the twins to hide their emotions when they were in their demon forms. Well, Vergil may go ahead and hide the reason that drove him here. I do not need that information to know what he needs from me.

“May I...?” I raise a hand as I step closer. When I reach for his face, Vergil seats back, putting his hands on his knees. Jagged teeth part slightly as a threatening growl rumble from his chest. Behind him, his tail twitches.

Angels bless my foresight for asking Dante what to do should the very situation before me happen. _Don’t let him know you’re afraid of him,_ was what he had said to me.

 _I work with demons, Dante._ I reminded the younger twin then. _And, I dare say we’ve “worked together” enough that I’ve seen you two at your worst._

 _You sure about that?_ Dante raised one eyebrow under his bangs. I leaned in, eyes resolute as I press my hands against his office table.

_Your demon forms do not scare me. Not in the slightest._

Dante chuckled. _If that’s the case, angel, show my dumbass brother what kind of a woman he’s tangoing with._ He kicked back in his chair _. I’d pay to see the look on his face when he realizes what a fearless work of art he’s dealing with._

 _Certainly._ I assured. _I’ll have him know--_

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, quietly, more to myself than to Vergil. He hears it loud and clear though. The growling stops, and his tail begins to flop side to side, confused. I reach up, past the curved horns by the side of his head and press my hand softly against the hard crests on his jawline, the place where I usually cup his face.

The visible tension in his form dissipate under my touch. His wings lower completely, and he leans into my palm. Heated breathes goes from regular hisses to a slow exhale. The metallic plate on his face is in no way scalding. It is comfortably warm, especially given the weather. I bring up my other hand on the other side of his face. I do not know how much he can feel through the plating, but I stroke along the groves with my thumbs nevertheless.

Deep rumbling, deeper than the thunder outside the windows, reverberate in his chest. I move one hand lower, to his neck, where no plating obscured his skin. Running my knuckle down along a muscle, I take in the bumps and texture of the scaled hide. Vergil seems to like what I am doing. I can hear his tail thump against the bed.

“We don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to.” I press my forehead against the ridge that is his brow. “Let me know though if I’m doing anything you don’t like.” I word my intention with an implicit declaration that I have more say here. While I am not intimately familiar with his current form, I know enough about general demon physiology to know that despite the limited range of feelings he can express, emotions can be far more volatile. Don’t want to set something off that I cannot handle later, should he remain like this.

Vergil submits to my request, returning my headbutt with equal pressure. I run a finger down where his nose would be. He rears back with a huff and hiss, tail arching behind him like a scorpion’s. I chuckle and apologize, putting my arms around his neck and pulling him back in. Our foreheads meet again, before he nudges me to turn my face aside a little. I do as he desires and feel the flat surface of his sharp fangs brush against me cheek. Kisses, perhaps? He does this quite often in his human form. Guess his habits are still the same.  
  
Vergil warps his arms around my waist as he nuzzles me. His sharp claws rest gently against my sides, clearly aware that he could easily pierce clothing and flesh if he isn't careful. I glide one of my hand from his neck to the shoulder, going as far as I can before the pauldron-like plating blocked my path. It’s fascinating, how he seems to have a set of armor fused to his body. I make a mental note to ask him later if this is unique to him.

I pull my head back a little so I can see where to go next. Vergil gives a small groan of disappointment, then rests his face against my chest. For a second, I wait to see if the fire from his horns might actually do some damage. Alas, if they were capable of doing that, he has certainly taken care of it by channeling that intense energy elsewhere. Right now, they seem nothing more than a condensed glow, slightly stronger than what the rest of his body is giving off.

My hand continues the exploration, this time resting on his upper arm. I squeeze slowly down the biceps, triceps, brachialis. Other than the skin texture, the muscle density seems the same as when he is human. Unless I’m more tired than I think and don’t quite have the strength in me to really find out.

An arm, the one that I was squeezing on, leave my waist. Vergil tugs at the towel that is still hanging off my neck. I let him pull it off with a flick of my head. He then raises his hand before me, much like I had when I approached him. I guide him to my face, letting him feel my cheek rest in his palm, letting my hair tangle in his clawed fingers. He gently brushes the strands down from the unruly state my rough drying had left it in. I laugh appreciatively when he tries to see if he could still help me curl my hair. A little too large for what is in fashion, sadly, but in the future, when tastes have changed...  
  
“Sit back a bit,” I say, “I want to cuddle.”

An echoing chortle is his reply. Then he scoots back, bending one leg a bit outward so I would not have to rest against the spike on his anterior thigh. I plop down in his lap and throw my legs over his other leg. Without the reach to wrap my arms diagnally aroud his chest, however, I settle for putting them around his waist. As for my head, it takes me several tries before I found a spot that I could rest somewhat comfortably on.

We stay in that position for what seems like a good ten minutes or more, maybe enough for one movement of a concerto. Gods, I should have put some music on. I am certain I have a playlist titled “For Rainy Parisian Nights” somewhere. The deep echo of Vergil’s heartbeat, the thrum of the demonic energy coming of him, and the tip-tapping of rain will have to do for now.

Lightning flash again, outside the window, close enough that the crack of thunder was only a second later. I open one eye to peek outside. The wind is still going strong, plucking flowers off the plants I have hanging off the railings. On the balcony, behind some waist-height privacy fences, several pieces of laundry flutter on the clothesline--

“ _Zut alors! La lessive_ \--” I jolt up and dive for the balcony doors. Something thick wrap around my midsection and stop me in my tracks. I look down to see Vergil’s long tail looped around me tightly. It lifts me slightly and pulls me back. “Vergil, the laundry--”

“Stay,” His voice, distorted, echoing through his demonic form, spoke his first words tonight. “Please,” he adds, tone desperate and needy, as he continues to bring us closer together.

Ah, well, my laundry can wait. Worse comes to worst, he can hand wash them for me tomorrow morning. “Since you asked so nicely,” I cup his face and give him a quick peck on the teeth, “Certainly, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Note on my OC: I have her backstory and the misadventures of how she came to meet the DMC crew swimming around in the back of my head. Throwing this story out first just to get a feel of her voice, as well as getting some catharsis on being touchy-feely with Vergil. Chronologically, this piece is probably around three years after the events of DMC 5. Probably. I'm not entirely sure yet.
> 
> Now... the question is do I want to take this and leap up the rating scale... that is a distinct possibility. If anyone has any ideas or feedback in mind, let me know!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
